


Surrender

by laurelismay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurelismay/pseuds/laurelismay
Summary: “You’re in love with the mudblood.”I say it without ceremony. It’s true. I know it, he knows it.He denies it immediately, of course.“What?” He snorts. “I’d never fall for Granger.”I look at him from the corner of my eye.“I didn’t mention her name.”
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 31
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic-within-a-fic; taking place in the dramoine verse. I feel bad for the Astoria/Pansy/Daphe that gets cast aside, tell me I'm not the only one! ;o;

“You’re in love with the mudblood.”

I say it without ceremony. It’s true. I know it, he knows it.

He denies it immediately, of course.

“What?” He snorts. “I’d never fall for Granger.”

I look at him from the corner of my eye.

“I didn’t mention her name.”

***

He fell for Granger. Obviously.

He couldn’t stop talking about her. He lit up as soon as anyone mentioned her name. _Granger_ was such a know-it-all. _Granger_ was besting him at every class except quidditch, even potions. _Granger_ had abominable hair and unruly buck teeth. Even though she’d had perfectly acceptable teeth for years now, and her hair wild though it was, complemented the neatness of her features.

One time we were walking in the halls when the Gryffindor trio turned the corner and headed towards us. He stopped short and gaped at her until she was out of sight, and then discussed the state of her glasses with me for no less than 14 minutes. Perhaps he hadn’t realised it himself yet.

I would have put some token effort into competing, but it seemed like a waste of time.

***

We’d been betrothed since we were children. In an abstract, far-off way, we would be married one day. The ancient and noble Greengrass lineage combined with the immense wealth of the french newcomers; our union was only logical, really.

We were friends as children. Like distant cousins. Until we grew up and I stopped seeing him as a cousin.

He was a spoilt boy. Arrogant. Kind, secretly. He didn’t hate me, but he didn’t want me around. He wouldn’t talk to me like he did Crabbe and Goyle.

Pale hair, slicked back. The tip of his sharp nose moving while he talked. The bright spot in the dip of his collarbone and the way his eyes would focus and it wasn’t like he meant to _smoulder_ but he’d look directly at you and you could lose yourself in that.

That’s how I knew he was more than just my fiancé.

***

I was realistic about the situation, I like to think.

I was conventionally attractive. A good pureblood girl. Ash-blonde hair that fell to my mid-back; longer than allowed according to the school handbook, but it wasn’t as if anyone would report a _Greengrass_ for having long hair. The averageness of my features was agreeable. My eyes were dark blue and they relaxed into a permanent glare when I wasn’t smiling.

He probably didn’t notice that I turned pretty. I looked like the same freckled child in his eyes.

I was predictable. A constant. I was Astoria, and I was always on his side even if it was the wrong side.

He was objectively kind of ridiculous, a caricature of the sneering noble. The production he made of being _Slytherin_ and _shoo-in for next generation Death Eater_ was, in fact, rather Gryffindor. In that way he had his heart on his sleeve. He had slick white-gold hair, expensive foreign cigars, his uniform tailored to fit his V shaped torso just so- he had _minions,_ unironically.

He was a prat- I could see that even from behind my rose-tinted glasses.

But he was rich and handsome and dangerous. That was more than enough to make him a commodity to the girls of Hogwarts.

***

“We should call off the betrothal.”

I say it out of turn, over scones at breakfast. He pauses, a spoonful of porridge halfway to his mouth. He sets it down.

“Is that what you want?” he says. He looks mildly surprised.

Of course it isn’t what I want. I want to sit 6 centimetres closer and nestle into the cove of his neck and keep him clean and sprightly and have golden-haired children and spoil them just like him. But most of all I want him to want me.

I think, maybe,I could marry him if he didn’t love me. It was fortunate in the first place that I’d been tied to someone I liked. But knowing I’d be second to Granger all my life— knowing I’d be the chain around his ankle. That was unacceptable.

“It’ll be difficult.” I clarify. “Ruling out the ruining of our families, one of us has to cheat on the other. Realistically, it would be troublesome for my family to return the dowry to yours, so it has to be you. So, I’d consider it a favour if you would get caught cheating on me.” I tilt my head back so I can look down at him. “Draco. I have never asked anything of you. This is my only request.”

It would have been appropriate to leave at that point. But I was a girl who lacked dramatic flair, so I sat beside him, both of us thoughtfully eating breakfast.

***

“We should call off the betrothal.”

Draco snaps out of his early morning reverie. Not an hour ago, he’d been scraping a razor down his chin, barely conscious, cold mist seeping through the window. _Greengrass wanted to call off the betrothal._ This was news. Unexpected, definitely. Good or bad? He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t done anything to upset her, had he? Maybe she had her sights on someone else. Probably Adrian Pucey— he was pretty in a way that girls seemed to like. She’d been seen talking to Terry Boot occasionally. What if it was someone closer? Blaise. They’d been harmlessly flirting for years. What if that had turned real?

“Is that what you want?” he says. He means to ask why. _Tell me why this has come up all of a sudden. Tell me who it was._

She presses her small hands together, steepling her fingers. They turn pink where they press against each other. Her eyelashes are lowered, sweeping along the curves of her cheeks, and he can’t see her eyes.

“It’ll be difficult.” she clips out, avoiding the question. “Ruling out the ruining of our families, one of us has to cheat on the other. Realistically, it would be troublesome for my family to return the dowry to yours, so it has to be you. So, I’d consider it a favour if you would get caught cheating on me.” She focuses her eyes on him and they seem impossibly electric in the candlelight. “Draco. I have never asked anything of you. This is my only request.”

 _Her only request._ The way she put it, it would be hugely unreasonable of him to deny her this. It wouldn’t cause him much personal set-back. His family could easily surrender the dowry to the Greengrasses. What was the loss of a small fortune from a gargantuan fortune? It wouldn’t dent his marriage prospects, either. Greengrass was the best match, but not the only good match. Betrothed men were almost expected to sow their wild oats, anyway. It would only make him look slightly foolish for having been caught.

But isn't it actually quite a big deal? Marriage was fairly permanent and a major life event. Surely it warrants more discussion and thought than a short exchange over breakfast.

He studies her carefully. She’s pleasant in both looks and demeanor. Smart and level-headed, a little bit spiteful but politically savvy enough to carry it. The truth is, she isn’t very interesting— or, she hadn’t been until now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (song: 'Girl Crush')
> 
> I want to taste her lips  
> Yeah, 'cause they taste like you  
> I want to drown myself  
> In a bottle of her perfume

It isn’t as if I instantly fell in love with him. I don’t even remember the first time we met— I hadn’t advanced as a person enough to support the weight of my own head yet, let alone form coherent thoughts. The scant years between us made him a giant to me (he had never been a bulky person, but he loomed over me all the same). A flaxen-haired giant who didn’t have time to play with me, but was well-bred enough not to roll his eyes when I asked.

He was just a fact of life.

_Fact: this is Draco Malfoy. He’s older than you. You must write to him every so often. You will receive gifts from him on the appropriate occasion. You must make it look like he’s leading you when you dance. He is tall but will bend down to talk to you. He is very busy—it’s alright, you’ll see him again in a few months. His tales are full of grandeur (and you didn’t believe him at first, but you visited and there they were, albino peacocks roaming the gardens!). Someday, he will be -is practically already- yours._

So I assumed he was mine, and like I treated anything else that was mine, I cared for him. I knew he wasn’t perfect. Perhaps he lacked taste (which would explain why his preferred aesthetics were so thoughtlessly expensive that they bordered on gaudy— no worries, that’s what I was there for), but he was attentive where it mattered. He never made me feel like he was just humouring me, and he was good to his mother. He knew just when to break up a tense silence and more importantly, when to let matters rest. Our whole house didn’t follow him just because his father was wealthy; he was our commander and he knew that we didn’t have to be loved to win. He was the real thing wrapped in Leprechaun gold. A lot of people looked on him with scorn and maybe that’s why I grew more protective as each year flowed into another.

I also found him devastatingly attractive. That, however, was sheer luck.

***

In the end he tells me he’ll think about it. It isn’t an out-right denial, but I had expected this anyway. Most likely he’ll come back and negotiate terms in more detail.

On my way out of the great hall, a dark blur knocks into me. She hurtles askew into the floor, her books flying every which way. I almost lose my balance too, but years of training allow me to merely sway before righting myself.

“ _Oi_!” yells a far-off Weasley.

I bite my cheeks.

“Are you alright?” I say, offering a hand to the disheveled girl.

She pauses, her mouth open. Vaguely I’m aware of the eyes on us— the optics are bad. A pureblood supremacist bullying a bright young mudblood. A scorned fiancée picking on the object of her betrothed’s affection.

Granger takes my hand. She isn’t one for subtle slights. In fact, I’m highly doubtful that she’s aware of Malfoy’s fascination with her.

Her hands are calloused, the result of nights spent lancing with the quill.

“Thanks.” she states curtly as if suspicious that I’d caused the collision.

Harry Potter rushes forth, her books collected in his arms. She turns her head to thank him and, inadvertently, I get a faceful of her hair. It’s as soft as air and smells faintly of apples. The Gryffindor table is glaring at me.

“Well,” I say, dusting off my skirts. “Have a nice morning.”

***

Granger wears makeup. I noticed it earlier— her eyelashes just a hint too dark for her hair colour, a suggestion of peach powder on her cheeks, dusted sheerly over the bridge of her nose too. It’s nothing one would pick up on unless they happened to be 2 inches from her face and familiar with muggle cosmetic products themselves.It’s tastefully done, I’m irritated to note.She doesn’t need it.

She’s an attractive girl but the years of being classmates and her reputation give people the excuse to pretend otherwise. She’s smart and virtuous and loud no matter what anyone else thinks. She prides herself on not being like other girls— to the point that she feels ashamed to indulge in taking care of herself. I think I’m supposed to hate her.

I wish I did.

Maybe that’s why I confront her during a free period later in the day.

Weasley and Potter flank her, one on either side. It’s no wonder she doesn’t have other friends when those two are always around. I decide that Weasley is a no-go.

“Potter?” I say, tilting my head to my shoulder.

He turns to me, working to mask his weariness. He’s polite.

“Hi.” he says, an elbow resting on the back of his chair.

“I’d like to talk to Granger about something. Mind switching with me?” I indicate my head to Blaise in the adjacent desk, who raises his eyebrows when he catches us looking.

Potter turns his gaze to Granger, who is scribbling fervidly on her parchment. Weasley is half-asleep. Realising he doesn’t have backup, Potter shrugs, a full-body gesture. His hands lightly span my waist as I pass over him into his seat.

For one moment, I stare hard at the wood of the desk. I see Potter perched in my seat in my peripheral vision, and he’s pretending not to look at me. Granger remains oblivious. I’m still not too sure what I came here to do.

It’s singularly impolite to be _that_ engrossed in a history essay, I decide. I can only yell for her attention or tap her on the shoulder. As much as I hate to initiate physical contact, I opt for the latter. She shudders the moment we make contact, smearing ink on her desk.

_How can a person be that clumsy?_

I smile apologetically, reaching into my inner pocket for a napkin.

“Granger.” I say cordially, turning my knees in her direction.

What do I say? _Give me my fiancé back?_

“Who _are_ you?” she snaps. I suppose from her perspective I’m a random lower-year Slytherin who not only knocked her over at breakfast, but has now caused her to spill ink over her work.

“Ny name is Astoria Greengrass,” I supply, “My sister’s in your year.”

She appraises me, her mind working quickly.

“Alright. What do you want?”

_I want Draco to not be in love with you. Failing that, I suppose I want Draco to be happy. I want to be free and I want Draco to be happy._

“Professor Sinistra is looking for a student assistant.” It’s true, I’d been offered the position from my sister. “It’s just to chart some planets over the next month or so. I’m sure you’d be great at it!”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I know you’re helping Professor Snape at the moment though— if you’d rather stay with him, I can find some-”

“Okay.” she says abruptly.

I blink, leaning forward.

“Thanks Granger!She’ll appreciate it, I’m sure. I’ll inform your partner assistant right away!”

I’ll inform him that he’s an assistant as of now.


	3. Chapter 3

Arranging for Draco to be Granger’s partner is easy. Daphne works her magic with the administrators, while I suggest to Professor Sinistra that Draco may be interested in learning more about his name-sake star. It’s credible coming from me— I’m his betrothed, after all. Draco knows the whole situation is fishy but doesn’t deign to point it out, instead throwing me a measured glance. _Are you going to explain this, or what?_ His silver eyes seem to say, his brows raised. I smile benignly back at him, holding out the parchment containing his new schedule.

Star-charting twice a week, Tuesday and Sunday after curfew. Quiet times in the astronomy tower. The autumn season is dying; soon snow will hush the night air, and there they’ll be. A handsome lovesick boy and a good girl.

Draco tucks the schedule into his pocket and clears his throat.

“About your proposal, Greengrass.”

I nook my hand around his elbow. It’s an acceptable display of affection and he doesn’t react, as unperturbed as he is by the casual gesture. I’ll miss it, the ability to do this. I should stop now so it’ll hurt less.

“Yes. Let’s talk about it.”

“Somewhere quiet.” He twists his mouth in thought.

***

We end up in his private dorm room.

I haven’t been here for years.

His possessions that aren’t of the bare necessities are shoved into one corner, inhabiting an expanded chest. They are of course top-of-the-line (and therefore, in my opinion, all the more impersonal). Draco has a lot of _things;_ his father sends them for him but not _to_ him. A wealthy heir should have the latest and the best. If not for use, then for appearances, and if not for appearances, then for foisting onto others in order to incur social credit.

The room is covered in dark mahogany panels. Deep-pile rugs adorn the floor, but fail to eliminate the feeling of stark dungeon stone. A full-length window emits a soft glaucous glow, light filtered through the lake. Beds aren’t supposed to be king-sized— it’s unsurprising that his is. It’s a hefty affair, with carved posts, too many pillows, and intricately embroidered silk sheets.

There is a single armchair at the desk. He gestures to it. I take a seat, smoothing out my skirts. The chair cushion is deceptively deep, and for one moment I feel the sensation of sinking.

His cloak is hanging from a hook (he must have taken it off by habit). His arms are folded and he towers over me.

“I can’t say I’m enthusiastic about this.” He isn’t looking at me. “It would be unfair to trap you. I know.” He says the last sentence in a quieter tone, taking a few steps back and sitting on the too-big bed. He rests his weight leaning back on an elbow, his ankle strewn over his knee. His tie is tight on his neck and he looks blatantly off-guard. I ache.

“So here are my conditions: firstly, you’ll choose a new fiancé from a provided list. If he isn’t on the list, I need to approve him.”

I lean forward. Sensing that I’m about to interject, he quickly qualifies.

“It’ll look bad if you end up with just anyone after me. It’s to your benefit, too. I know them personally, I’ll make sure they take care of you.”

I purse my lips, but nod. “Continue.” I say.

“Alright. As we know, by ancient code cheating is a punishable offence: a year of imprisonment, or a fine. You’ll choose the fine. In return, the Greengrasses will retain your dowry and we’ll contribute the monetary value of the dowry on top of that.”

It’s generous. A doubled dowry will give me better prospects. 

“Lastly, and most importantly, I need you to send me into Deprivation.” _Deprivation_. I haven’t heard that term spoken aloud much, but I know what it means. It’ll lessen the blame on him. If we play it right, my reputation won’t suffer either.

When a couple engages in certain rites, their magic intertwines and they grow closer, they grow to need each other. Typically these are performed by married couples. If the rites aren’t renewed after a period, the couple will experience withdrawal pains. Deprivation. It makes them hunger for intimacy, a craving different from typical loneliness; Deprivation is discomfort that gnaws, that actively distresses the affected parties. It wouldn’t excuse his cheating, but it would provide context.

My nails are digging into my palms.

“In exchange, I’ll cheat on you and our betrothal will end cleanly.”

“I accept.”

***

I know about the rites. I know them in profound detail. (I’m not supposed to— it’s unsavory reading material.)

I had hoped that one day Draco and I would do them together, but not like this. It feels grossly unfair, that I should get my dearest wish curdled and rotten. I am not going to recover from this. Not for a long time, maybe not ever.

 _Keep your eyes on the goal,_ I tell myself. Suffer for freedom, for Draco’s happiness, for perhaps, the hope that someday I’ll be content without him.It’s the logical choice and I _despise_ it.

***

Thin green light plays over his angular features. He smiles humourlessly and holds out a hand.

My palm touches his. We are sworn.

Our joined hands emit a lambent glow, and our end begins.

***

They don’t talk. They don’t have to. In order for prepare for the first rites, they have to stabilise their magic to each others’by sleeping, together. By being unconscious and vulnerable.

He hands her one of his nightshirts. Her hair falls over her face as she accepts it. He turns around so she can change, suddenly chafingly aware of every faint sound echoing in the room.

It isn’t as if it’ll be his first time deprived of Astoria Greengrass. He’s been deprived of her for as long as he can remember.

Everyone told him not to mishandle her, to be careful. His visits were limited and he could only spend so long with her. When he was younger and crueler he’d thought these to be unamusing qualities in a fiancée. He’d even resented her for it, as if she’d chosen to bear her familial curse just to avoid him. Even though she seemed outwardly healthy these days, the relationship between them was still distant and formal.

He feels a tug on his sleeve, and there she is, leaning over the bed, absolutely swamped in his shirt. She slips beneath the covers and pulls the blanket right up to her eyes, leaving just a sliver of her head visible, her hair splayed over the pillow. He smooths a hand over her forehead. It’s warm.

Fully clothed, he lays down on top of the covers. He’s tired. He’s never not tired. Slowly, slowly, then all at once, he slips into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Later, this is going to hurt.

I know this, but I almost don’t believe it— how could something as innocent as _his palm curled against the back of my hand_ hurt me? Our fingers aren’t interlaced; his curve lazily forth, spooning against mine. Nothing but gravity pins my hand to his.

It’s all under the table, of course. Not that Draco and I need to hide. I’d asked him to keep our rituals to the minimum necessary to induce Deprivation, and to keep them out of public sight. He had frowned and agreed. (I’d withheld from telling him of a certain brunette witch who couldn’t suspect ours was anything more than a perfunctory bond).

He’s talking to Blaise. I’m trying and failing to read a book.

I’m staring at the words but they don’t register. His skin doesn’t so much scorch mine as _electrify_ it. My fingers want to snatch themselves into a tight fist, it takes all my concentration to stop them. His thumb makes a slow swiping motion over the back of my hand, insinuating itself against the peak and valley of every knuckle.

I take a breath through my teeth. He looks so casual.

Today, I belong to him just a little more than I did yesterday. Our magics aren’t yet intertwined, but perhaps they’re brushing shoulders with each other, becoming familiarized on the simplest of levels.

Sunlight streams in through the arches behind him— it catches fire on his white-blond hair.

***

She strokes my cheek. Her fingertips smooth indulgently against my skin and she _knows_ I don’t like it. Her mouth is parted in concentration, and her canines -sharp sharp tips- peek out from her crimson lips.

“Daphne,” I whine, “That’s really quite enough. That shade doesn’t even suit me.”

“Nonsense. It looks wonderful on you— honestly, I don’t know what you’d do without me.”

She swipes up more rouge and continues her assault. The colour is red, true deep _red_ , and there’s something almost florid, visceral about it. It’s going to be obvious that I’m wearing makeup; I’m too pale and washy to pull this off. I’ll feel silly.

She knows everything, naturally. Daphne is a relentless busybody. I’ve learned over the years that it’s easier just to tell her everything upfront: that way, she gets my version of events and doesn’t go out of her way to snoop.

She thinks Draco is an idiot. She thinks I’m an idiot for liking him, and an even bigger idiot for leaving him. I suppose she’s entitled to her opinion. Moreover, she supports me in her own way.

“-aand there we go!” she smiles triumphantly and holds a hand-mirror up to my face.

The surface is scratched and smeared and rusting at the edges, but I can still make out two sordid blooms of red on my cheeks. My eyes are too dark and my lips too dry.

Daphne is smiling— I see her lips curved in anticipation just behind my reflection. I wrinkle my nose, and laugh tiredly.

“Thanks, Daph.” I lean my head against hers like I did when we were children. Our hair, pin-straight and ash-blonde, interflows together. The weight of her skull is comforting. I can’t tell where I end and she begins.

***

If he notices anything different about me, it isn’t visible on his face.

“Astoria.” He offers me his elbow. I take it.

“So,” he murmurs, leaning his head so his breath feathers against my ear, “I carried out a few inquiries for you. I’m afraid the pool of potential suitors is woefully small… you won’t want anyone particularly old, yes?”

I nod, flicking my eyes to his and startling when I realise they’re looking squarely into mine.

“If you don’t like anyone on this list, I could look into more international options.” He presses a neatly folded parchment into my hand. I open it gingerly and appraise the contents.

“Draco.” I say. “I am not marrying Marcus Flint.”

He looks genuinely confused.

“You don’t like Flint? I thought you got along.”  
“Can you _imagine_ -“ I begin, before shaking my head.

“I’ve never even heard of Casper Rosier.”

“He goes to Durmstrang. Felix’s cousin. His English is passable, he’s on the quidditch team.”

“ _Neville Longbottom_?” My voice hitches in disbelief.

“He’s the heir of a formidable family, he’s grown quite promisingly in the last couple years. I know he’s a Gryffindor, but he isn’t as obnoxious as most of them. He’s underrated.” He sounds proud of himself.

“Is this… the entire list?”

Draco has the courtesy to look sheepish.

“Why don’t we give it a couple days? I’ll keep looking. In the meantime, you could at least give them a chance. Maybe talk to Neville, get to know him a little. Or maybe _you_ have suggestions. If you do, it would save me some effort,” he chuckles quietly, tilting his head.

“What do you want, Astoria?”

It’s a cruel question and he doesn’t know it.

I nudge my cheek lightly against his shoulder.

“What I _want_ , Draco, is for you to find a slightly reasonable list of potential husbands.”

“I thought I did,” he complains, “how am I know what you find reasonable? I don’t even know why you find _me_ unviable in the first place. Maybe you should tell me more specifically what I lack so I can find you someone better.” He says it airily, as if it’ll be simple to answer. As if I couldn’t possibly hurt him.

I had hoped he wouldn’t ask, which, in retrospect, was quite unrealistic. I should’ve known, I should’ve prepared a believable reason.

“I,” I stutter, my heart-rate spiralling high, “I have feelings for Potter.”

is what comes out of my mouth.

Draco chokes, somehow _elegantly_ , his slender fingers pressing to his throat. He raises his eyebrows, his mouth twisting in thought.

“Your taste is questionable.”  
I’m on the cusp of taking it back, but the cogs in his mind are turning already.

“I don’t expect to marry him.”

“Then what?”  
“I… wanted it to at least be possible?”

“You know I would _never_ have put on him on the list.”

“I know.”

“Well.” he slicks his hands through his hair, tipping his chin back as if his head is suddenly too heavy for his neck. “I admit, the Potters are a respectable house. He _is_ the Boy Who Lived. But his guardian, whoever it is, has historically rejected all offers.”

My brain is both numb and on fire at the same time and I don’t know how I am possibly going to come out of this conversation but it’s alright because he’s frowning at his pocket-watch and dusting off his sleeves the way he always does and saying,

“I have to get to that infernal astrology activity you signed me up for. But we aren’t done talking about this.” 

Then he pats me on the head to let me know he isn’t cross with me and I. Love him for that.

***

“ _Malfoy_?” says the young Gryffindor witch as the door creaks open.

“Granger? What are you doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't stop updating this unless I explicitly say so.   
> Thanks for reading <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (song: 'Heather')
> 
> But how could I hate her, she's such an angel  
> But then again, kinda wish she were dead as she
> 
> Walks by  
> What a sight for sore eyes  
> Brighter than the blue sky

There’s something about the astronomy tower that makes one feel exposed, vulnerable. Maybe it’s the lack of corners, the open, boundless night sky. Plush velvet drapings that seep all the sound out from the room. A faded mahogany bench, a perfect seat for a single astrologist— or a tight fit for two.

It dawns upon the pair that they’ve never been here before, not properly, not like this.

“Did you know that the wall disappears when the door closes?” Malfoy breathes.

Hermione Granger had known that the wall would disappear, theoretically (she’d read it in _Hogwarts, A History_ ). She hadn’t known that they’d dissolve away -ceiling to floor- with the softest rumble, that the wisps would come out from the protection of their lanterns, rise up into the midnight, up and up until they faded into infinity.

She spares Draco Malfoy the history lesson and almost smiles at him. It’s reassuring to know that someone as thoroughly old-blood as him still finds magic…magical. That he’s so entranced that he has temporarily forgotten to express his disgust at being alone with her.

He looks forlorn, somehow, when he isn’t sneering. Gentle open lips forming the shapes of under-his-breath words, the hem of his shirt tucked tightly into his belt.

His eyelids narrow and he takes a step away from her.

“-got to be some kind of mistake… _Greengrass_ …”

He’s heading for the door and she intends to just let him, up until he’s nearly there and her hand is on his sleeve. He looks at her. His face is a pale slice in the moonlight. He doesn’t say anything.

“You’re assisting Professor Sinistra, aren’t you?” she says, accusatory.

He lowers his chin but doesn’t deny it.

“Don’t worry yourself, Granger. I’ll switch.”

***

I want to ask how last night went.

Of course I do, and of course I can’t. I’m spared the decision, however, when Draco spills it all on his own.

“Astoria.” He says, his voice hard.

We’d agreed to call each by our first names— a frisson runs up my spine as he says mine. It sounds indulgent somehow, his tongue rolling over every syllable.

“Did you know that I had to work with _Granger_?” He levels a stern look at me.

I don’t even answer, tilting my head slightly instead. I knew, and I won’t bother lying, because he knows I knew, and I know he knows I knew. We’re too familiar with each other to run through the waste-of-time conversation that would occur if I lied now.

“I won’t ask why, Astoria,”

 _Astoria_ , I think serenely, replaying it in my head.

“- but it is really important that I do this?”

I mull it over, my cheek pressed against my shoulder. Tentatively, I place my hand next to his, until we’re almost touching— but not quite. His fingers interlace with mine unthinkingly. Nothing in his face or stance suggests anything out of the ordinary. He’s still looking at me for my answer.

“Yes.” I say. “It is.”

“Alright.” He agrees, unenthused.

He looks older, suddenly, his posture painfully erect, one tense hand on the strap of his shoulder-bag, his knuckles white.

“I’ll see you later, Draco.”

***

I spend my day trying not to anticipate our meeting. It’s an exercise in futility. By thinking “ _I will not think about Draco Malfoy_ ”, I have already thought about Draco Malfoy.

I wonder if I should wear anything special. I have a rather large selection of robes, largely unworn, but I could take out that deep grey one that almost shimmers in the dark. The one that hangs delicately off the shoulders.   
I take a bath, scrubbing myself until I’m raw, and feel almost relieved to see myself flushed red in the mirror. Relieved that it’s feasibly the heat of the water. I charm my hair up, then down, then up again, manually pulling out a few strands to frame my face. I stand at my armoire until goosebumps raise on my flesh. I put on fresh school robes, in the end. It’s almost the time when Daphne’s evening class ends— I should go before she intercepts me.

My footsteps are loud.

The path from my dorm to his is long but straightforward; just one cold, winding, corridor. The portraits are empty. Torches light themselves with a _fwoosh_ as I advance, making my heart pound. I arrive at his door, contemplating it. Draco is waiting for me behind this heavy wood.

The door opens just as I raise my hand to knock.

He looks surprised to see me, even though I’m exactly on time, even though he’s saying “Of course, come in, come in and sit,”, his hand on the small of my back, guiding me to his armchair.

I sink into the plush cushion.

There are more candles in his room than there were before. I’m sure of it. The glinting flames dance to the chill of the dungeon. He’s casting warming charms, his lips moving quietly, and my bones are made of air.

He’s wearing his uniform too, but only the shirt and trousers, the top button of his collar undone. The corners of his mouth tug downwards, not in a frown, but in a polite discomfort. He rubs his wrist to his hair and asks,

“Are you certain you want to go through with this? It’ll be harder to undo the further we get.”

“I know that, Draco.” I say. “I’m ready.”

We stare at each other, me in the armchair with my arms folded, him standing in the middle of his room, trying and failing not to loom over me. He raises a hand in a questioning gesture.

“I-”

“Maybe we-” he says at the same time.

We laugh.

“Just. Stay there.” he says, decisively.

He picks the chair up, with me in it, turning it around so it faces his bed, the back to his desk. He moves it forward slightly. I hear a few shuffling sounds and then a quiet thump.

I turn my head and see him sitting on the desk behind me, the contents of the desk cleared.

“Oh,” I say in understanding.

“I thought this would be a good way to ease into it.” he confesses.

I’m vaguely disappointed, but also vaguely glad that I get to bask in him without having to look at him directly. Draco’s disembodied voice and Draco’s room; I could deal with that.

“Do you have a comb?” he says in a light voice.

I summon it, handing it silently to his outstretched palm.

He sets it on the desk with a soft clink. He hesitates.

I move, shuffling so my shoulder blades touch the back of the chair. He lets out a breath and then his hands are around me, his thumbs just grazing the undersides of my jaw, then the back of my neck, scooping the curtain of my hair, draping it over the chair.

He begins.

I close my eyes as he works the comb through my hair, my head thrown back. When he hits a snag, he replaces the comb with his fingers, gently teasing the knot out, smoothing it back over. His breathing is light and rhythmic.

I want to this to last. I want to stay awake.

_It doesn’t, and I don’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I'm updating the rating of this fic to 'explicit' (eventual smut)  
> -I figured out the endgame plot! Hopefully writing it will now go more smoothly :>
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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